SHREEK!!!

With one final, decisive strike, Shuku cuts off Kubo's remaining arm, leaving him defenseless and unable to fight back. As Kubo watches in horror, the pain of his severed arm hits him instantly, the agony overwhelming as it flies through the air.

"HUH-AAAHHHHHHH!!!!"

He collapses onto the sandy ground. The golden axe, still gripping his severed arm, lands beside him after a brief flight. His eyes, wide with terror and pain, are bloodshot. Sitting armless and vulnerable, blood pours from his shoulders as Kubo stares at Shuku Ryuu.

The one he had mistreated so terribly in the past, the one he had taken advantage of, the one whose life he had destroyed, now stands before him. Holding the Blood Red Knife in his right hand, Shuku stares back at him with a scornful gaze, having come for his long-awaited revenge.

Only now does Kubo realize his fatal mistake—underestimating Shuku. He had thought the man in front of him was the same weak, vulnerable kid he had bullied just a week ago. But now, as he fully grasps the difference in power, strength, and abilities between them, he sees the monster he has created. Instinctively, every fiber of his being screams at him, to run.

...

As Kubo slowly stands, no longer screaming in agony, Shuku watches in bewilderment. He wonders what trick or attack Kubo might attempt next, now that both of his arms are gone. But whatever Kubo tries, Shuku is confident—overly confident—that it will be his final move.

...

THUD!!

To Shuku's surprise, losing his arms doesn't leave Kubo completely defenseless. He still has his legs, and it's with his right leg that Kubo lands a surprise kick to Shuku's stomach. The force sends Shuku flying back, and he spits from the sharp pain.

As soon as Kubo pushes the danger far enough, he uses every bit of strength and power left in his legs to run.

"HUK HUK HUK!!" He grunts, sprinting for his life, desperate to reach his golden-armored horse, just 20 meters away. He needs to escape from this maniac as fast as possible.

But being armless makes running a struggle, no matter how much strength he has left. Without his heavy arms to help balance his body, he fights to stay steady. Soon, he'll have trouble climbing onto the horse, which he's only been riding for less than a week.

But Kubo won't have the chance to worry about any of that. After being kicked away, Shuku, accustomed to being thrown aside like a rock, immediately rolls on the ground and is back on his feet the moment he lands.

In the blink of an eye, Shuku finds the perfect tool to stop Kubo's escape. He thins his Blood Knife even further, transforming it into something resembling a long, minuscule rope. Spinning it around, he concentrates the mass into a large blood lump before using all his strength to hurl it at Kubo.

The Blood Rope, controlled by Shuku's will, moves on its own, independent of his own actions. It slithers through the air, sneaking between Kubo's legs while he's still running in panic. The rope wraps around his left leg and yanks him down to the ground.

THUD!!

With his leg suddenly yanked back by the rope, Kubo trips pitifully on the sand. His face and stomach hit the hot ground, sand flying into his mouth as he struggles to lift himself, trying to spit out the gritty, tasteless mess.

"Haaa!! HAAA!!!"

But above all, he fights to crawl, roll, and drag his body forward as far as he can. Now, he knows that without his arms and with the rope still holding his leg, there's no way he can climb back onto the horse. So, he does what any instinctive animal would do when it faces a predator it cannot escape: keeps crawling and begins to beg for mercy.

As Shuku walks slowly toward the crippled Kubo, who struggles to crawl through the sand and dirt, his hands grip the Blood Rope, which thickens as it collects Kubo's blood with every step. Each step pulls Kubo closer, second by second, while Shuku's face remains emotionless. His eyes stay fixed on his prey, and his grip tightens on the rope, the adrenaline building within him.

"HAK!! HAAAA!!!"

The closer Shuku gets, the more terrified Kubo becomes. With each step Shuku takes, Kubo crawls desperately, inching further away, his mind focused solely on fleeing. He ignores the fact that his enemy has been behind him for moments, inching closer with each passing second.

Without wasting a second, Shuku raises both hands high into the air. The Blood Rope liquefies once again, releasing Kubo's leg and flowing back up to Shuku's hands. Within five seconds, it forms a sharp, red, single-edged blade.

SHREEK!!!

With a swift motion, Shuku slices off Kubo's right leg.

"GRAAAHHHHHH!!!!!"

Kubo's scream echoes across the desert, filled with pain and terror, as his severed leg drops lifeless to the ground. Blood spurts chaotically from the gaping wound. Despite the unbearable pain, he keeps crawling forward, hopelessly dragging his body through the sand, desperated to delay his inevitable death for as long as possible, his body scraping against the rough sands with a harsh CREESH sound as he forces himself onward.

"…"

Seeing the pathetic and unpleasant sight before him, Shuku pauses, allowing Kubo a few moments to crawl. The stench of blood in the air and the horrific sight of Kubo would traumatize any normal person, shaking their moral sense to its core.

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However, to Shuku, nothing is brutal enough to terrify him, nothing horrific enough to send shivers down his spine or even raise a hint of goosebumps. The horrors he endured in the dungeon have numbed his senses to the point that scenes like this feel as normal as seeing trees in a forest.

"..."

After a brief pause, Shuku lets Kubo crawl a meter ahead before slowly walking toward him, closing the gap quickly. As he reaches the bloody, limbless Kubo, whose single remaining leg struggles weakly to carry him, Shuku stands over him. In no time at all, Shuku delivers what he had promised.

... SHREEK!!!

With another swift swing, Shuku chops off Kubo's last leg, leaving him completely limbless. Kubo's final chance to escape, if there was any, is gone.

"GAAAAAAAAAAaaaaahhhhhhh...." Kubo's agonized and terrified scream echoes, mingling with the haunting sound of his body parts being sliced apart. The memory will torment him forever, but as the seconds pass, his voice weakens.

Exhaustion takes over, his body drained from blood loss and the battle's toll. The overwhelming pain numbs his senses, and he becomes too tired to scream, his voice fading into desperate, hollow gasps.

Seeing this, Shuku shows no satisfaction or joy. Instead, he is filled with fury and anger. Kubo should have screamed more than Shuku expected. He should have been writhing helplessly on the ground, yelling in pain, unable to control his body. But after losing his last limb, Kubo just lies there, motionless, as though he were already dead. Shuku can still feel his breath, realizing that Kubo might have blacked out from the sheer agony he endured.

"Wake up." Shuku calls, his voice laced with frustration.

"..."

There is no response, only silence. This is not what Shuku wanted. It is not what he had expected. He wanted Kubo to continue fearing, to scream at the top of his lungs from the pain, to writhe like an animal trying to escape its inevitable death. But instead, what he got was disappointing.

Frustrated, Shuku drops the Blood Blade to the ground and decides to take matters into his own bare hands.

"WAKE UP!!" He shouts, his voice echoing with fury.

Using his foot, he pushes Kubo onto his side, rolling him onto his back to expose his face and the bulging belly under the golden armor. Without hesitation, Shuku sits across Kubo's stomach, pinning him down with his weight.

THWACK! THWACK!

Shuku begins pounding Kubo's face with his bare fists, each blow landing with unrelenting force.

"I SAID WAKE UP!!!"

THWACK! THWACK!

Shuku's fists continue to rain down, driven by pure rage and the need for a reaction he cannot seem to provoke. Each blow to Kubo's face lands with crushing force, threatening to shatter his skull and break his teeth. Yet, as much damage as he inflicts, Shuku's own hands begin to bleed and bruise from the relentless assault. Still, he does not stop.

Instead, his fury intensifies. Shuku punches harder and faster, his movements fueled by unyielding anger. Kubo's face becomes grotesquely bruised, his skin pale and swollen, his cheeks and features distorted under the relentless beating. Blood streams from his face, splattering onto Shuku's hands with every swing.

Through this brutal torture, Shuku sends a clear, merciless message—no forgiveness, no mercy will be granted.

Yet, with every punch he throws, Shuku feels an unexpected and growing disappointment. The man he had built up as his archnemesis—the one he had sworn to take down, no matter the cost—turns out to be not just weak but utterly pathetic and pitiful. The more he strikes Kubo's soft, bloated face, the more hollow the victory begins to feel.

Each punch brings back memories Shuku cannot suppress. It reminds him of the days in high school, only months ago, when everything had changed. He recalls the moment he stood up to Kubo and his gang to protect a classmate, taking their place as the target of relentless bullying. That decision, noble as it was, had marked the beginning of his descent into a life filled with suffering and torment.

Now, as Shuku's fists pound Kubo's battered face, the act feels less like the justice he imagined and more like a haunting echo of those unbearable days, a vicious cycle he cannot escape.

Each blow takes him back to every bruise, every punch, every cruel beating that Kubo himself inflicted on him. Every day, whether during breaks or after school, Kubo and his gang would find a reason to order him around. Shuku became their unwilling servant, forced to do their homework or participate in cruel pranks on others, even when he despised it. Even when classmates tried to intervene, it made no difference, Kubo always found a way to assert his dominance, reveling in the twisted entertainment of having a "slave."

And if Shuku dared to resist, if he ever spoke up, disobeyed, or stood his ground, Kubo ensured he'd pay the price. The memory of those harsh Taekwondo kicks still lingered. Kubo, self-taught from YouTube, had treated Shuku as his personal sandbag, testing every martial arts technique with ruthless glee. For Kubo, it was all a game; for Shuku, it was torment.

Now, with each strike he delivers, Shuku feels the weight of those memories. Every punch is more than just a blow to Kubo's face, it's an eruption of months of bottled-up humiliation and relentless suffering.

Kubo had "geniusly" ensured his torment was invisible to the outside world. He targeted hidden spots, Shuku's stomach, legs, and even his crotch, places concealed by clothing so no one could see the bruises and scars. From the outside, Shuku Ryuu always appeared cheerful, his constant smile masking the pain beneath.

The teachers remained oblivious to the truth, blind to what was happening under their noses. Shuku's classmates, though aware, were too afraid to intervene, terrified of becoming Kubo's next victim. Even his friends, those closest to him, were either too unanimous or indifferent to notice his suffering.

For months, Shuku endured this hellish life as both a slave and a human punching bag. The injuries, beatings, and pain he had accumulated over that time far outweighed the punishment he was now inflicting on Kubo. Each strike was a grim reminder of the scars etched on his body and soul.

As he relived the torment Kubo had subjected him to, Shuku's fists didn't stop, even as Kubo's face became a grotesque, unrecognizable mess. The brutal torture continued relentlessly, and Shuku resolved not to stop, even if it meant Kubo's death.

But then, amidst the chaos, Kubo's bloodied lips parted, and a faint sound escaped. Shuku paused, leaning in closer, his ears straining to catch the broken words.

"... Please... spare... me..."

"..."

For a moment, the world fell silent. That was it. Those were the words Shuku had waited so long to hear. The voice of his enemy, once proud and merciless, now trembling, defeated, and pleading for mercy. The man who had stripped Shuku of his dignity, his pride, and his hope was now begging to be spared—desperate to live just one more day.

It was everything Shuku had dreamed of achieving since stepping into this new world. Kubo's surrender was his ultimate victory. Though it had come quicker and less satisfying than he had imagined, Shuku had achieved his goal. He had finally claimed the revenge he had been yearning for.

And now, with the final piece of his vengeance in place, Shuku stops punching entirely. His left hand clamps tightly around Kubo's neck, holding him firmly in place. Meanwhile, his right hand begins to summon his Blood Skill, pulling the blood from the Blood Blade lying on the ground.

Within five seconds, the blood rises, spiraling through the air and condensing into a sharp, deadly icepick in his grasp. The crimson weapon gleams menacingly in the dim light, its lethal intent unmistakable. Shuku grips it tightly, his resolve solidifying as he prepares to end the pathetic life of Hotaru Kubo once and for all.

As Shuku grips the Blood Icepick, a slight tremble runs through his hands, but it's not out of doubt—it's the weight of what he is about to do. But in the end, there is no hesitation.

SHEEK!!!

With one swift, powerful thrust, he drives the icepick into Kubo's forehead. It penetrates with ease, and within seconds, Kubo's body falls limp, his suffering finally coming to an end. The life drains from him, leaving only silence in its wake.